“Whistler, you fucking prick.” Hank rubbed the reddened spot on his neck where a faint line of blood was running.

“Just following procedure, my dear pretty waste of flesh.” Whistler’s grin illuminated the dock. “Wouldn’t want an imposter, would we?”

“Who the hell would want to impersonate me? They’ve all been out-system for centuries.”

“Well, we didn’t know that, did we? We just got back from picking up the poppet from her hiding place. When the master’s away, the Hank is at play, I trust?”

“Bored as shit, if you really want to know. She hasn’t talked to me in years.”

For the first time, Whistler’s gaze faltered. “No contact?”

Hank looked side to side, as if it really mattered. Mother was within earshot in the entire system, and this close to her center, there was nothing he could do to hide this conversation from her. “She’s just been quiet lately. Ten, fifteen years maybe.”

Nine pulled the hood back from his face. “We’ll have to go see.”

Whistler nodded, walked back to the docked corvette. He walked up into the vessel, pulling Fleur from her solitude out onto the metal surface of gate control. Hank looked her lithe form up and down, reflexively licked his bottom lip.

“She’s grown.”

Nine walked closer to Hank, frown on his face. Hank tore his gaze from Fleur and looked safely at the floor.

“We’ll need to drop. We need to take the catalyst down to Mother.”

“Machine?”

Zero?

“They’re at the Gate. In the tube. With Mother.”

There is no way you could know that.

A chuckle drowned by the viscous gelatin of the Machine atmosphere. “I know.”